The Perfect Little Gift
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: On Valentine's Day Clara remembers all the little gifts she's received over the years from an unknown source. (Whouffle)


_My parents said it started when I was one. A small package left on the doorstep with my name on it and inside was a heart shaped locket and a note explaining not to be frightened, but that I was loved and would always be. And then it was a blanket for a particularly cold winter when I was two. At three it was a soft doll called 'Clara'. When I was four it was a teddy bear with a red bow tie; at five it was a package of stickers of my favorite cartoon; at six it was a bracelet I thought I had lost._

_ By seven I knew to expect it and was the first awake when the doorbell rang, rushing down to find the small card and the bit of colored paper – exactly what I'd needed for a project at school. At eight it was a single rose left at my desk at school that made my cheeks burn and the other girls jealous. At nine it was a wheel for my bike because somehow, whoever it was, they'd known I'd just broken it._

_ Ten came with a pair of gold hoop earrings, ones I'd wanted, but my parents couldn't afford. Eleven was, at the time inexplicably, the best – a stuffed monkey as big as me that I cuddled with for days before it found a spot on a chair in the corner. Always there to make me smile. Twelve was more subdued, a simple card that told me to never forget how loved I was that I still have pressed in a book somewhere._

_ It was a box of sweets for thirteen, and a fez I laughed at for hours at fourteen, a CD of some band I'd never heard of for fifteen – a band that wouldn't be heard of for years that I'd recognize with a sort of sad remembrance later in life. Sixteen came with a letter, a letter that told me to be strong; a letter that told me to hold on; a letter that told me better days would come._

_ And a month later I lost my mum._

_ When I was seventeen it was a drawing, an awkward drawing on pale paper of four hearts with smiley faces that stayed pinned up for years until it was lost to a child in need of cheering up. A boy named Artie who found some comfort in it when he skinned his knees. At eighteen it was cash, an odd sum that turned out to be exactly what I needed for a long ride in a cab when the tube broke down later in the week._

_ Nineteen it was a book for university I'd cried I'd never be able to afford; twenty came with red roses – not for love, but because, a note said, it was my favorite color. Twenty one was a dress that fit perfectly enough it made my friends question whether I had a boyfriend stashed on the side. Twenty two was a keychain of some animal I'd never seen that I spent hours staring at, late at night, questioning._

_ Twenty three brought three tickets to a fair that hadn't opened and a booklet of stamps for rides that sat unused for months and forgotten until the flyer in the paper that Artie found. The gift took their mind off their mum for a night and managed to put smiles on their faces… something I hadn't seen in quite some time and it was then I started to wonder about the deliveries every Valentine's Day since I'd been born._

_ It occurred to me at twenty four that I should question the dream catcher and the book on Venice, but by twenty five – spent on the third moon of a planet in another galaxy dancing with a strange man in a top hat and a purple bow tie – I understood. And at twenty six came you; a lifetime of Valentine's days leading to a perfect little baby, the most unexpected and cherished gift of them all._

"Should I…" the boy asked the Doctor, swiping at the long bangs that fell into his dark eyes, "Should I ask her what she'd like, daddy?"

Shifting away from the console, he lifted his son into his arms and glanced towards Clara, scribbling in her journal with a small smile on her face, knees tucked underneath her. "I think maybe you should give mummy a few minutes to finish up. A thought as lovely as the one she's recording should never be interrupted."

He bowed his head shyly and then sighed, "But it's Valentine's day."

"Big birthday," the Doctor replied, giving him a poke in the stomach that made him giggle just like his mother. "Wait, why do you want to ask what she'd like?"

Brow furrowing as his smile faded, he glanced at her and said plainly, "Because it's also Valentine's day, and that means mummy should get presents too – doesn't it? Because it's Valentine's day and because we love her so much."

The tiny face just inches from his waited, giving him a sad frown and the Doctor understood, "You're worried mummy's forgotten in our celebrating you?" Touching his forehead to the child's he smiled, and explained, "Mummy is never forgotten and she is never _not_ loved."

Looking over the controls, an idea forming in his mind, he raised his eyebrows and whispered with a mischievous grin, "Could we show her?" He added quietly, lips ticking up further as he looked to the understanding dawning on his father's face, "_Could we, daddy_?"

Clara closed her book and sighed happily, turning to give them a warm smile as she moved towards the Tardis doors and he called, "Clara, we're… going on an errand."

With a small laugh, she pointed, "Don't get into trouble, boys." Then she gestured, "I'll be at my dad's getting things ready for the party."

They waved her off and then the Doctor dropped a hand to the console, tapping a lever before meeting his son's eyes, "The perfect gift."

"A perfect gift for every Valentine's day until now."

"What will you give her today?" The Doctor asked him curiously.

He glanced at the doors and smiled, "I'm sure we'll think of something."


End file.
